


Guardian

by trufflemores



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 1.12, 1.12 Crazy for You, Friendship, Gen, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1.12. Barry escorts Caitlin home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian

Barry holds his drinks well. Caitlin does not.

He's got her hair up in one hand and is rubbing her back with his free hand as she throws up in the grass, trying to instill a sense of apology and sympathy into the gesture. She doesn't acknowledge him, groaning between heaves. "It's okay," he hushes her, keeping his arm partially wrapped around her, willing the worst of it to pass quickly. "It's okay."

Her skin is cool through the dress and he can feel a very tangible _mellowness_ radiating from him as he tries to infuse warmth and comfort into her. Ever since the explosion he's run noticeably warmer, which is useful when one is trying to comfort their drunk friends on a cool night. It makes sense: super speed, higher metabolism, an intimate connection with _electricity._ He's a natural space-heater. Someone should patent him.

(And okay, maybe he shouldn't have had that last shot because even though he doesn't feel drunk, he definitely feels spacey. Someone had to stop Caitlin from drinking it given she was on a mission to adopt _everyone's_ drinks.)

To be fair, _before_ the accident he only got drunk to the point of throwing up outside a bar twice. The first time Iris dragged him outside by the back of his shirt as he tripped over his own feet and told everyone in earshot how cool _space_ was.

"And you're done," Iris told him _just_ as the alcohol hithim. At least he had the decency _not_ to throw up on her shoes.

Unfortunately Barry couldn't say the same thing for the _second_ time. She forgave him – after he did her laundry for two months.

Neither time sits particularly pleasantly in his memory. All he really remembers is that the hangovers were brutal.

Admittedly they were nothing compared to the time he was whammied by the _Rainbow Raider_ ("I can't believe we're actually calling him that." "Caitlin's idea," Cisco replied, hands up defensively, "I'm Team Bivolo."). Even _with_ Barry's super metabolism, being dosed with two thousand milligrams of horse tranquilizer and an overstimulated brain hit him _hard_. Barry has vague memories of throwing up all over the floor at least twice and talking. Incessantly. For four hours. Then it went fuzzy and he woke up to the worst headache he'd _ever_ had, so splitting he ignored Caitlin and Cisco, chugged an entire bottle of aspirin, collapsed onto the floor, and fell asleep until mid-afternoon.

Yeah. Barry owes them for that one.

And Cisco is right. Their social lives _have_ been lacking lately. Getting out is fun. It's refreshing.

Not that he's been _bored_. They've been busy: meta-human activity has climbed substantially ever since they started rooting them out. It's like exposing a hive: once you start taking a few of them out of commission and advertising yourself as a "threat," the rest converge to defend their territory. Balancing his heroics with his job at the precinct is equally engaging, especially because Captain Singh can't know that he was late because a meta-human literally shredded his organs apart and it's sort of hard to hear and he's got a killer stomachache but he can't let either of those things show. ( _Thanks a lot, Hartley_.)

Caitlin doesn't speak, doubled over, breathing slowly, deliberately. When she finally gets herself under control, he lets her hair go and sheds his coat, draping it over her shoulders. With a pained grimace, Caitlin straightens and leans into him.

"Ready to go home?" he asks.

Caitlin nods, groans, and holds out her arms. "Take me away, Superman."

"Other guy," Barry says with a slight grin, sweeping her up into his arms. "Ready?"

"No," she says, tucking her cheek against his chest. "Just hurry."

Barry obliges, moving as quickly as he dares without causing sonic booms, racing up the multi-storied apartment to Caitlin's door. He carefully fishes her key out of her pocket and lets them in, setting her down gently on the floor.

"Are we still running?" she asks, sounding ragged.

Barry smiles a little. He can't help it. "No, we are here," he assures her, looking around, checking out the place. It's actually nicer than he expects – not that he expected any less of her, but it's just very comfortable. Warm paintings, cozy chairs, nice dressers. He thinks it's _artsy_. Surprisingly so for someone like Caitlin Snow.

 _She can be sweet, too_ , he reminds himself. _She's not always in a bad mood_.

And it's true – she's like Cisco, but expresses herself in a different way. Cisco gets comical, Caitlin gets angry. It's just how they convey emotion. And Barry loves both of them, loves their mannerisms and quirks and the fact that they're _his_ best friends. Two people who are actually even nerdier than he was. Amazing.

Keeping a supportive arm around her shoulder, Barry tries to lead her inside. Caitlin is way too pale for comfort and Barry thinks, _Please do not throw up on the carpet._ It's not even _his_ carpet, but the thought of cleaning it up makes him wrinkle his nose in distaste. (And he would have to clean it up because he's a hero and it's part of the whole hero thing and blah blah blah blah blah.)

"Vodka and super speed . . . not a good combination," Caitlin groans, taking a ginger step forward.

Barry laughs, agreeing with her even if it's for a different reason. He wouldn't trade his speed for anything, but he wouldn't mind regaining his ability to drink like a normal person. _Hey, maybe it'll come in handy_ , his conscience consoles as he stays half a step behind Caitlin, ready to catch her if need be. _If you ever have to be friendly with a Russian mobster, you'll be able to hold down your liquor_.

"Come on," he tells her, ushering her further into the room, trying to encourage her to settle down, to let the alcohol run its course, flicking on the light in her bedroom. Equally cozy. Ten out of ten.

"So, are you gonna call her?" Caitlin asks, balancing precariously on one foot as she tries to wrestle off her shoes.

"Who?"

"That girl," Caitlin replies, hopping a little as she throws off one shoe and works on the other one. "The one who gave you her number."

Barry looks at her and is suddenly aware of just how _much_ skin shows in this light, and he feels vaguely like he's being intrusive, keeping his gaze away as much as he can, taking in the atmosphere.

 _You're friends,_ his conscience reminds pointedly. _Friends change clothes in front of their friends. Relax._

"I hadn't – really thought about it," he admits truthfully, unable to avoid staring as she shakes her hair loose, reaching for the back of her dress.

"Yes you have," Caitlin says, like it's obvious, "but I know you. You won't."

He's got his hands behind his head, thinking, and he knows that the answer he wants to give isn't what she needs to hear.

_I haven't really thought about dating anyone other than Iris._

_You've gotta stop pining after Iris_ , his conscience tells him.

Barry quietly takes his conscience and locks it behind a closed door.

Then Caitlin unzips her dress and _okay_ , Barry is definitely blushing now. "You'll let her slip right through your fingers," Caitlin quips as the top half of her dress comes _down_ and Barry turns so fast he's surprised he doesn't Flash, one hand held up to cover his field of view modestly and this is definitely _not_ how he pictured his evening going when he told Caitlin he was scouting for Peek-a-Boo at the bar. "Because _you_ don't think you deserve happiness," Caitlin finishes smartly.

And – he isn't expecting that, isn't Caitlin to say something like _you think you don't deserve happiness._

_Of course I do._

It's reflexive, even though he can't find an example to refute her, which is even more challenging when he can hear her fumbling with her clothes.

He's protecting people throughout the city. That makes him happy. And he spends time with Iris ( _who is dating Eddie_ ) and Caitlin and Cisco and Dr. Wells and Joe. He has _super speed_. He's happy. He knows he is. And he gets to be. Just like everyone else.

Except.

_Dad's still in jail._

_Mom's dead._

_I screw up and I can't save everyone._

He wonders for a moment if he even _exists_ outside of the Flash anymore, wonders what happened to Barry Allen in the interim. Sometimes it feels like he's just the Flash, their super friend sweeping in to save the day and vanishing back into oblivion whenever he's not on duty.

_Not true._

And Caitlin's drunk. _Don't take what she says to heart._

It's easier to not think critically about "Sometimes you need a little saving, _too_ " because Caitlin huffs as she says it, very, very obviously drunk. She doesn't really believe it. She's just saying it to fill space, combining subconscious thoughts with actual statements.

"A little help, please," she says, and Barry turns and oh.

He looks at her, even gestures to himself because _you mean me?_

Never did he expect to be helping a drunk Caitlin Snow out of her dress and into a set of pajamas, but he also never expected to become the Flash in the first place.

So he puts that to good use and finds her clothes as fast as he can, peeling off the rest of the dress as quickly as he can, and he's blushing but it's okay, it's fine.

Then she's dressed and hiccupping once silently, looking down at herself and declaring, "There you go again. Saving me from that evil dress."

Barry almost rolls his eyes, thinking to himself _this night could not get any weirder_. "Get in bed." He points and she follows.

Holding a hand just over her back as she walks, keeping her on track, he gives her a little nudge when she says, "Did you sneak a peak?" Looking at him, she points and says with conspiratorial gusto, " _At my goods?_ "

He can't help it; he laughs, soft, abbreviated, helping her into bed. "I – wouldn't be much of a hero if I did," he tells her, pulling the covers over her.

She's sly as she wheedles, "Yeaaaah, but it's okay if you peaked a little. You deserve a peak for all the good stuff you do."

Barry lets out a breath that could be a laugh, amused, and thinks that he's been approaching the situation the wrong way. He should have his phone out and record it. For posterity, of course.

But that's a Cisco idea and he's not Cisco, he's Barry, so instead he sits on the bed beside her and tells her gently but firmly, "Drink lots of water."

She's looking at him and there's a certain quiet peace about it, the way they can occupy the same space without feeling any obligation to do more. Then she says, "Thank you for tonight."

Barry thinks, _Thank you._

Because, really, it was fun – going out, drinking (even if the alcohol doesn't hit him, it's still kind of fun), _singing_ – and he enjoyed it. They need to do it more often. Meta-humans get to have control of their lives – and Barry's a meta-human, too, he's _human_.

He deserves a break. To have some fun. To embarrass himself in public.

(Even if _Linda Park_ thought he was one of the best singers to ever grace the stage, and wow if his ears aren't turning red from how hard he's blushing.)

Then Caitlin whispers, "I _sang_."

Barry laughs, gets up, telling her, "Any time," and meaning it.

He's walking away, ready to grab his coat and take off, when he hears an inquisitive, "Hey, Barry?" Turning towards her, he ducks his head, feeling almost shy at being in the same room as her when she's so scattered, so _vulnerable._ "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

_Oh._

Sometimes Barry forgets what it's actually _like_ to have friends. Iris and he have always been friends, but it's been a couple years since he's had someone other than her who he trusts with his life, someone who makes him laugh and cry and inspires him.

So he doesn't hesitate, knowing that she's drunk and will fall asleep soon, that's how it always is. "Sure," he says. "Yeah."

Then he's sitting on the bed beside her and has a hand on her leg, thumb rubbing methodically, trying to silently reassure her, _I'm here for as long as you need me_.

Her eyes close, her breathing steadies, and he should leave her but he can't _move_ for a moment, struck by the fact that he almost _lost her_ to Heat Wave and Captain Cold mere days before.

Barry is always the one on the front lines, always the one digging through the wreckage and sprinting through the flames, saving people. He's fast enough to keep himself safe. Caitlin and Cisco are just like everyone else – ill-equipped to handle people like _Barry_ , too slow to save themselves. They could never take him down on their own, or anyone like him.

As Barry himself proved when he got whammied. Who do you send after someone capable of running faster than a bullet?

Closing his eyes briefly, feeling the wave of shame – and Iris still doesn't talk about the Flash like she used to and Barry knows it'll be a long time before she forgives him, if she ever does – Barry tries to focus on the fact that Oliver stopped him before he could hurt anyone else.

_Caitlin is safe._

_Eddie saved your life._

_Iris will forgive you._

Barry still doesn't know _why_ Eddie did it: leaped in front of him when he was down, throwing Cisco's shield up in front of both of them just as Cold and Heat blasted them with their guns. Eddie risked his _life_ to do so. Had he been a moment too slow, Eddie would not have survived the encounter.

And Barry would never have forgiven himself.

 _Sometimes you need a little saving, too_.

He doesn't know the emotion lumping in his throat – gratitude, fear, love, a profound need to _protect_ them – but he does know that it's late, and Caitlin is safe, and he needs to head home.

So he stands up slowly, careful not to make a sound, and Flashes back to Joe's place (their place; and it really was the better move to just come _home_ again). He sets his coat on the rack and smiles fondly to himself.

He's got good friends.

Sure, he's got evil meta-humans breathing down his neck, but he has also _friends_ , people to protect, people to spend time with, people who care about him, and he's grateful for that.

People who make his days brighter, his nights calmer, and his life so much better.

Throwing himself onto his own bed, he closes his eyes and grins, running a hand over his face.

He has _great_ friends.

And he's a lucky guy. Who needs to be the coolest person in town when you can run faster than the speed of sound? And hey, if Netflix is his first choice for spending his free time, at least he still gets opportunities to do other things with his friends, too, however silly they might be.

They'll have to do it again sometime.

His last thought before he falls asleep is, _We need to have fun more often_.

And he intends to uphold that resolution.


End file.
